


Nostalgia

by lone_lilly



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lone_lilly/pseuds/lone_lilly





	Nostalgia

  
Originally published: Date: Wed, 17 Feb 1999 00:05:55 EST

  
 **Title:** Nostalgia  
 **Fandom:** X-Files  
 **Characters:** Mulder/Scully, Mulder/Scully/Skinner (no m/m slash)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Spoilers:** none

  
  
***************************************************************

A request made.

"I'm not enough?"

Insecurity laced with fear edged through her lips and past the seductive  
barriers of their sex.

"Yes."

A kiss on the back of her neck where the skin was sprinkled with baby soft hair. A tightening of arms around her slender waist, not only to persuade, but to affirm.

"It will make you happy."

A statement; the question was in her words not her voice.

"Yes."

A rubbing of his firm cock against the tenderized crease in her backside.  
Friction in it's most primal form sparked from the fading embers of their  
previous lovemaking. Sensation, dulling clarification, easing inhibitions; his  
idea joining his touch-- no more need for thought.

A decision made in the inky bed of their passion.

"I'll do it."

A confirmation of desire blackened out his sleepy utterance; his fantasy  
repressed-- catalogued for further pondering at a later date-- but not  
forgotten.

No more mention of his want for some time.

*************************************************************  
At work they were average; normal for their profession, anyway. The novelty of marriage had long since worn off to those around them. No one doubted its endurance; they had proven tenfold their commitment to the other.

Repressed, no one thought to guess at the secrets they kept. They were safe in their own minds; hers, especially. She was as out of sync with him as their peers, because she too, was kept in the dark.

She studied each one. Wondering.

Is it *him*?

Not *her*.

She had agreed to his darkest desire, but as weeks passed-- the fear ebbed-- and she again became confident in their mutual games. Pushing the request farther out of reach. She was able to stay on track, no longer questioning the unknown. She could look her coworkers in the eye, again.

*************************************************************

"Tomorrow night."

A hoarse promise whispered in the cadence of sex. An agreement remembered.

A shudder raced through her body as his hands danced patterns over her slicked skin.

Anxiety pushed the climax which loomed so close further from the edge. She groaned as his hands traced lower, then tensed as she wondered,

"Who?"

"Trust me."

A reply meant to cease her worry, but one that was difficult to adhere to.  
There were issues she refused to talk about, measures of intimacy stolen from her in the past, and now he was asking so much-

His finger dipped inside her, probing for the sweet spot that would make her his.

She could only shiver again and her little death took another step towards the cavern of release. When in his arms, she couldn't focus, could only feel, and anything asked in the perimeter of their shared desire, was a manipulation, using her only weakness: him.

Refuge sought in the sweet truth of his mouth. Answers lie in wait there.

"Okay."

Once more a gift of her soul. He had played his cards and she would give him his jackpot.

Again coherency was lost to orgasm as his finger thrust her into oblivion. She could not refuse his request.

Sounds of passion gave way to slumber and she dreamt of her role in the play that would unfold.

**************************************************************

The fluttering in her stomach kept her on crackers and ginger ale all day.  
Several times he tried to catch her eye; every time she was focused on a spot just outside his peripheral vision.

She realized she was shaking when he took hold of her hand.

The long-stemmed rose on her desk after lunch comforted her.

His erotic openmouthed nip of her bottom lip calmed her nerves.

Work was barely a distraction. It was easier for her to pretend things were like they *were*, before the marriage, when these anxieties didn't exist.

What frightened her most, loss of control-- she wanted that?-- or the boundaries of the unknown?

**************************************************************

Sight stolen; clothing removed.

For the first act of the evening she was not to know whose mouth would own her; whose hands would guide her.

She was to be seized by both men, leaving her to guess which was her love, and which the stranger.

Another measure of her trust.

He knew she couldn't give it to him in a complete sum, so he took in  
increments, each time earning interest, more than the last.

She gave willingly despite the fear.

She shivered in the stale air-conditioning as she waited.

And then she could feel him-- them?-- watching her, feasting on her nudity.

She arched her back; an offering of sacrifice to be consumed by her husband's control. No words as she felt a hand begin a slow journey down her heated body, light in it's caress, not enough to quench her need, only to heighten her arousal.

She wasn't tied, but her muscles held still anyway, so tight that they were already quivering with her effort to remain motionless.

She was to feel tonight he had told her. One of his only instructions. This  
was as much for her as it was for him.

Didn't he know he was all she needed?

He was enough.

He had assured her she was too, but still she wondered.

She felt more hands join in on the fun, mouths claimed hers and her flesh. She could smell the scent of her husband, recognized his even as it mingled with the other's; could hear his distinct breathing.

Her pleasure was sought out, and pretty soon she was writhing on the bed beneath their stimulation.

And then scent and sound became secondary and the need to separate each man no longer paramount. All she could feel was the mouth sucking on her breast, the thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple, the tongue on her clit, and the hand in between her wet thighs.

Overload gave way to orgasm; an out of body experience-- her entire body pulsed with each contraction-- and still they did not stop. Positions were reversed so a new mouth was on her sex, and the other over her own, letting her taste herself on the man's tongue. Might have been *him*; she no longer had ability to discern.

Hours seemed to pass by as her body thrummed with eternal climax, and the past few or so already survived.

She was high on endorphins; floating on clouds made of fire.

Finally a warm body was pressed against her, bringing her up, and then turned so her back rested against her captor. They were on their knees, and she could feel an unbearably hard cock nudging urgently against her back. She thrust her head against his shoulder, and the man gently turned her head for access.

She met the sweet lips that now, after sensations had ceased, she could  
recognize as her husband's. His hands traveled up her sated body to her breasts and pinched the nipples more gently then had been done recently. Thumbs smoothed the aching tips, sore from arousal and too much pressure, and then the hands were gone. . .

. . .Moving up her slender column of neck to her sweat-dampened hair,  
caressing her with worship. For a time, she forgot about the visitor, so  
focused was she on the hands of her lover.

She rocked against him. On fire again, impossible after so many times, she mused.

He was still kissing her even as her sash was untied, but her eyes did not open.

Not even when he slowly turned her head forward, moving his lips down her jaw and to her ear. Not until he whispered for her to look, did she finally open her eyes.

She gasped as she fell back against her husband, his hands flying to her breasts for support, and he kneaded them with care as she stared into the searing gaze of a long-dreamt fantasy, a past superior.

"Scully," her husband whispered into her ear, his breath darting deliciously inside, warm against the dampness there. "Trust me."

**************************************************************

In the following weeks-- months?-- she would blush whenever she passed his forsaken office. He had long ago abandoned the position that kept him in such close command of her and her husband. He had no other superior now, her embarrassment was heightened.

Occasionally, the memory of that night crept in unbidden in her everyday  
routine. A mental shake would expel the weak-kneed response, but she feared the crimson would forever taint her high cheekbones.

She was omni-professional; reactionless in passing, the slight quake between her thighs undetectable.

When passing, a nod of her head in acknowledgment; maybe, if the memory was particularly clear, it was accompanied by a "Sir".

In light, she had almost convinced herself it never happened.

At night, when they whispered of the forbidden, the memories assailed both of them with primal force.

Nostalgia intensified climax.

**************************************************************

She might have guessed it was him. Probably knew all along. Her husband wouldn't ask this favor of her without fulfilling one in return.

Looking back, she could place his smell-- utterly male and stale cologne-- from a million meetings before. Yes, should have known it was him.

General psychology, really, to acknowledge the fact after it was known.

She shuddered against her husband, modesty mingled with arousal. No turning back. Regrets?

*He* was at the bedside, watching her absorb it all in a matter of seconds.

Body still tingling with satiation; wasn't difficult for her to decide.

Her smile was affirmation; her hand, his invitation.

Gaze followed her husband as moved into the shadows by the bed. He sat in the chair, and she could just make out his profile in the glimmer of moonlight. The bed dipped, and she felt the weight of the other beside her.

The room hummed with the waiting.

She needed assurance first-- approval-- before she could complete this infidel fantasy. She saw her husband lean forward, caught his eyes. He nodded once and then sat back in the chair.

She felt the man beside her turn her head to face him, and for the briefest second her eyes lingered on him as he closed the distance.

Then, eyes fluttered closed at the touch of his tongue in her mouth.

He was larger than her husband, whom she fit against so well. This lover dwarfed her, blocked her completely.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she swooned into his embrace. His kisses were hard, tangier. Teeth scraping her lips, biting. She was surprised to find herself giving in so quickly. She was just as eager to devour him.

Hands began roaming, teasing, tempting. There was only going to be this once, and both were reveling the opportunity. *He* loved her, they all knew.

She took the initiative, moved to his ear and begged, "Sir."

He groaned against her kiss-swollen mouth, bit into the lower lip a little too hard, sucked it into the heat of his mouth to soothe it.

His hands dropped from her breasts to her waist, hugged her for a moment before pushing her away. She was too far gone to protest as he turned her around to face the darkness which held her husband. Her eyes were half closed, couldn't see in the inkiness anyway, but she imagined the reassuring smile on her husband's face.

A sucking bite to her shoulder and then she was pushed forward onto her hands and knees. She turned her head to the side, felt him pet her hair, then move down to her graceful neck. From there, fingers trailed down her sweaty body to her waist again.

She was pulled against him, he teased her clit first, and then positioned  
himself. At the insistent nudging of his cock inside her, her gaze shot to her husband's. Funny that *now* she could see his face so clearly.

One thrust and her breath came out in a hiss; eyes forgetting to stay open.

She moaned.

She let him begin a rhythm, long strokes that rocked her forward on the in- thrust. He was fucking her and her husband was watching. Felt good, but she needed more.

She arched her back, pushed her shoulders down. Smiled, when her nipples grazed the comforter with each rocking. The pressure was building inside her. The waves of orgasm began licking at her toenails. She could feel the surge sweep through her spine. Felt the transformation, when touching was no longer for pleasure only, but imperative for release.

She could feel that spot inside rubbing with friction against his thrusting  
cock. Felt herself on the edge; she started shaking her head in that moment when insanity starts to take over. She *tried* to keep her eyes on her husband, realized he was touching himself. Saw one stroke of his hand on his shaft, when she felt a rough finger flick her clit, and then the top of her body fell flat on the mattress. Her arms stretched tight in front of her; she was kneeling at her husband's altar-

And she screamed.

***************************************************************

They discovered it quickly in the infancy of their affair. This depraved  
desire to listen to-- and tell-- their darkest fantasies. Whatever jealousy  
plagued them in their professional lives, it was nonexistent in their sex.

They fed off each other's lust. They had met their equal. Soulmates? Maybe not, but they both enjoyed the games.

She had told him this particular fantasy-- one of the few that didn't involve him-- because he asked, while he stroked himself to climax.

He'd wanted a story, and though at first surprised, he'd quickly warmed to her words. She told him of wanting the man since she'd fist seen him, not because of any undying love for him-- though now, loyalty was just as good-- but because his brusque, sharp manner made her ache deep between her thighs.

She *loved* her husband, but it wasn't the same as this lust.

Marriage had only seemed natural to them after almost a decade of each other; there was no reason not to. In matrimony, they found an even keener craving for their fantasies. Without a doubt they could trust the other, didn't need to worry about loss of the other. This mutual freedom allowed them so many greater outlets.

Wasn't a surprise when he asked her this favor a few months back.

Deep inside she had hoped, never asked, but she had wanted to experience it with *him*.

**************************************************************

She grimaced when she stood to leave the basement. Her entire muscular system was crying out in pain.

She didn't remember falling asleep, didn't remember anything *after*, really; her only clue was her aching body, even more so than usual. She'd woken in the arms of her husband, had been a routine day from the moment her alarm went off. They didn't speak of anything important, save for the grocery list and the front page headline. Hadn't seen much of him the whole day.

Locking the office door, she jumped when two strong arms circled her waist and a wet kiss was placed beneath her ear.

"Let's go home, Scully."

She nodded her assent even as the familiar rush of heat began inside her.

**************************************************************

She tried waiting for her breath to even out; even then all she could manage was a throaty "God."

Her husband laughed against the still-trembling flesh of her inner thigh, his warm breath causing gooseflesh to rise over her sweat-silked skin. He licked his way up her body, but she was too tired to really appreciate it.

When he met her face, he kissed her the way she liked most. Sweet openmouthed kisses, tickling her lips with his tongue, teasing her. Kissing him was her favorite part of their relationship; he was so creative and enjoyed it as much as she did.

He moved his sucking kisses towards her ear, tongued the lobe, before biting into it gently.

She shivered.

"Last night was *so* amazing," he whispered. "Thank you."

He'd managed to make her forget, but his words sent a thrill of energy through her blood and with renewed strength she pushed him over and straddled him.

"No, Mulder."

Wet flesh surrounded silken steel.

"Thank *you*."


End file.
